Blowing up Sudan
(Several Years
Before)
Sergeant Hasdrubal Phillips checked the
door of the Sudanese goat herder’s shack for tripwires, then cautiously stepped
inside. He backed out faster, much faster, whispering, “Holy moly!”
Platoon Sergeant Ralph Kroder was
standing nearby. Knowing Phillips’ disdain for reptiles, he said, “There a
viper in there, Haz?” Sudan was home to a dozen or so vipers. Ralph had made it
plain to his soldiers: “Leave the snakes alone. I don’t care what you do with
snakes back home. Here, you kill ‘em.”
“Ain’t no viper,” Phillips said, turning
toward Ralph. He wiped a hand across his brow, removing most of the fear sweat.
“There’s enough explosives in there to blow up …” He waved a hand. “I don’t
know. Anything you can think of.” He walked a ways off. “I think we need to
mount up, drive about a mile away and call EOD.”
“Too late in the day,” Ralph said. “It
would take them an hour to get here, and by then it’d be too dark for them to
see what’s in there.”
“I know what’s in there,” Phillips said,
gesturing at the wood and mud shack. “A whole shit load of Semtex, that’s
what’s in there. And—And a bunch of weapons I don’t know what kind they are.”
By now, several other soldiers were
gathering around, drawn by the unusualness of Phillips’ actions and words.
Ralph sent everybody away. “Hey, hey. You’re
supposed to be securing the perimeter and looking for stuff. Nothing to see
here but a few tons of Semtex, a bunch of weapons and ammunition.” He looked at
Phillips. “There’s ammunition in the shack?”
Phillips nodded. “Lots of it. All in
wooden crates.”
“Okay,” Ralph said. He took the radio
microphone from its vest attachment and called company headquarters, asking the
CO’s radio operator to let the commander know of the finding and that he would
give a look and call back with information. Then, he grinned at Phillips. “You
want to show me what you found?”
Ralph went first into the shack, with
Phillips reluctantly following. Light from Ralph’s flashlight shone through the
gloom, illuminating stack after stack of plastic explosive bricks.
“Damn,” Ralph said. “There must be about
a thousand pounds here.”
“Ain’t that what I said?” Phillips said. “What’re
we gonna do with it?”
“We’re going to blow it in place,” Ralph
said. Phillips made some comment, but Ralph didn’t hear. He saw five crates of
RPK-74 machine guns, but the big surprise came when his flashlight beam fell on
a STEN gun, which sat on a crate of 9mm ammunition. “We won’t blow everything,”
he said. He searched the area around the STEN and the crate, all sides and
underneath. “Okay,” he said.
When Ralph slid his hands beneath the
wooden crate, Phillips said, “You gonna pick it up?”
“I am,” Ralph said. “You might as well
stay where you are. If I missed anything and this is booby-trapped, you wouldn’t get far enough away.”
“You’re crazy,” Phillips said.
“Could be,” Ralph said. The crate came
free from the dirt floor. “Okay,” Ralph said when certain he had not blown up
Phillips and himself. He stood and carried the crate and the almost
ninety-year-old submachine gun past Phillips and into the sunlight. He set the
crate on the ground and picked up the STEN.
“That looks like it was made in
somebody’s garage,” Phillips said.
Concentrating on carrying the crate,
Ralph was not aware Phillips had followed him. He looked at the young sergeant.
“I am always surprised when a soldier indicates lack of knowledge about
weapons.” Phillips only shrugged. Ralph said, “I will not give you any
information on this STEN gun other than to say the design comes from the Second
World War. It cost about ten dollars then and took five hours to make. If you
want to know anything else, you’ll have to look it up.” He removed the empty
magazine and locked back the bolt. “In fact, tomorrow morning I want a one-page
report on this weapon.”
“A report?” a surprised Phillips said.
“Wrong answer.”
“Oh. Yes, Sergeant.”
“That’s better,” Ralph said. “Now, would
you please find Sergeant Pham and ask him to join me?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Thank you.” As Phillips walked away,
Ralph took his field knife and began work on the ammunition crate wire
closures.
Sergeant Pham was the platoon demolition
man. He did not hold a specified slot in demolitions, but most infantry
platoons have at least one soldier who has self-learned demolitions, as well as
some who have completed an explosives course.
“Wow,” Pham said when joining Ralph near
the command vehicle. “Is that a real STEN?”
“It is,” Ralph said.
“Does it fire?”
“I disassembled it and checked
everything,” Ralph said. “All parts function, as far as I can tell.”
Pham said, “Haz said you’d found an
old gun, but he didn’t remember what kind.” He tapped the crate. “And a whole
lot of ammo, too.”
“And one magazine,” Ralph said.
Pham laughed. “Probably not in stock.”
“Probably not. Haz tell you what
else we found?”
“Half a ton of Semtex?”
“Yep,” Ralph said, nodding.
“You want me to blow it?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Grinning, Pham said, “Oh, hell yes.”
“You need any help?”
“I’d prefer to work by myself.”
“Okay,” Ralph said.
“How long a fuse do you want?”
“Ten minutes be enough?”
“That will get us far enough away.”
“Okay,” Ralph said. He put the STEN on
top of the crate, stood and picked up the crate. “I’ll get the vehicles pointed
in the direction of away and get everybody loaded.”
Pham said, “I’ll have it all set up by
then.” He grinned. “Probably before.”
Pham was good to his word. He had a block
of C4 sitting on the Semtex, and a timed fuse-igniter ready to set as Ralph was
directing the last Stalker into position. He stood outside the shack as Ralph
drew near. “All ready,” he said.
“Ten minutes,” Ralph said.
“Let’s make it twelve,” Pham said. “We
can drive for ten minutes and then we’ll have two minutes for everybody to get
into a good watching position, get their cameras all ready to video the show.”
“Sounds good,” Ralph said. He waited
while Pham set and initiated the timer.
“Coffee’s on,” Pham said, grinning.
The five Stalkers drove west for ten
minutes. Ralph directed the vehicles into a line facing east. Ramps dropped and
the soldiers dismounted, all talking about the upcoming explosion. The goat
herder’s shack was a black dot in the red desert.
“One minute,” Pham announced.
All dismounted soldiers stood in front of
the armored personnel carriers. Drivers and vehicle commanders stood in their
hatches.
Pham yelled out, “Thirty seconds!”
Ralph said to Pham, “I’ve never seen half
a ton go up at one time.”
“Me, neither,” Pham said. “I’m really
looking forward to this.”
“Give us a countdown,” Ralph said. He
watched as every soldier, including Pham, activated cell phone cameras.
“Ten seconds,” Pham called, while
pointing his camera toward the target area. He counted down, reaching two
seconds when a small red dot suddenly became a cloud of red sand pushed up by a
red ball of exploding Semtex. The red sand flew high into the air and expanded
in a sphere quickly eliminated by the burning explosive.
“Holy moly,” Ralph said.
His soldiers shouted phrases much more
profane. Ralph grinned. Unlike other soldiers, American soldiers always voiced
pleasure when things blew up.
A wave of dust swept across the desert.
The shockwave swept around and over the soldiers, pushing against camouflage
clad chests and legs.
“All right, show’s over,” Ralph said,
after the wind passed. “Mount up. We’ve got a patrol to finish.”
Pham was running the platoon sergeant’s
Stalker while Ralph was platoon leader. As the two neared their vehicles, Pham
said, “You think an LT would have let us have a little fun now and then?”
“The splodey stuff, you mean?”
“Yep.”
“Depends on the lieutenant,” Ralph said.
He shrugged. “Some platoon sergeants wouldn’t allow such deviation from a
patrol order.”
Pham said, “You can’t just leave that
much stuff.”
“Nope,” Ralph said. “Some platoon
sergeants would call in a report and then wait for EOD to arrive.”
“Shoot, that could be next day.”
“That’s what we were told.”
Shaking his head, Pham said, “I’d hate to
spend all night with that much Semtex. I mean, the rag heads might decide to
drive out and pick up their stash. Then you’d have a fight with half a ton of
plastique at your back.” He waved a hand. “Or lightning might hit the stuff.”
“Two good reasons to blow it in place,”
Ralph said, smiling. “Plus, it makes a hell of a show.”
